


Jealous of the Moon

by objectlesson



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Play, Canon Compliant, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Jealous Harry, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rimming, Sexual Experimentation, The X Factor Era, bratty harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 16:22:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/objectlesson/pseuds/objectlesson
Summary: This is how he dies, Harry Styles sayingI want you in mewhen Louis  can’t possibly fulfill that request in a reasonable or safe way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so once I started writing about rimming I literally couldn't stop? Also, there was this dreadful post going around demonstrating what a ROYAL JEALOUS BRAT baby Harry was in the X factor house and I just couldn't let that go unwritten about so, here's over 10k of PORN featuring the brattiest bossiest most jealous little sixteen year old Harry ever. 
> 
> Title comes from the fabulous Shania Twain song "I'm Jealous." Wonderful and highly Harry lyrics there. 
> 
> Also, there's some consent negotiation in here that's less than perfect, but there's only so much you can do when you're writing about half drunk teenage boys. I think this is a believable amount for them to discuss what they discuss, but I'd hold older and less drunk characters up to a better standard. Always chat with your partner about licking their butt, right? 
> 
> Thank you to HurdyGurdy, as always, for being my dark larrie partner in crime and most wonderful friend and beta. I Love you very much. Happy Early Birthday!

They made a sign a few days ago specifically for moments like this. The half-sheet of binder paper that Louis stole from Savan’s clipboard reads “DO NOT DISTURB” in scrawled Sharpie all-caps, with an awkwardly added on “please!!!” in Harry’s more looping handwriting. The rest is decorated with crudely drawn penises, five-point stars, and Louis Tomlinson’s trademark dash-eyed smiley faces. The sign is currently taped to the (locked) door of their shared room in the X Factor house, but to ensure _extra_ privacy, they’ve also pushed everyone’s empty suitcases into an unsteady tower against the back of the door, just in case someone ignores the sign, picks the questionable lock, and decides to come in anyway. The tower will topple, hopefully in such a noisy fashion that Harry and Louis will hear what’s happening and manage to spring apart and into clothes quickly enough to avoid a repeat of last Thursday, when Zayn _mortifyingly_ walked in on them in the middle of a vigorous and very loud mutual hand job. Everyone had kind of dissolved into a tapestry of cuss words and apologies, and Louis couldn’t look Zayn in the eye for, like, two and a half days afterward, which is a terrible fate to befall a band, hence the subsequent sign creation. 

Louis has already forgotten about the Zayn incident, though, and the sign, and the locked door, and the precautionary suitcase tower. See, it’s kind of impossible to think of anything at all, really, because Harry is the world’s most distracting and perfect thing, and he’s underneath Louis right now, and Louis is so fucking in love with him. 

Louis’s mind is a mess of longing and calculated ploys to win Harry’s attention when he’s not touching him, and then when he _is_ touching him, it’s a mess of static and heat and profanity; there’s no in between, really. He can’t think when Harry is spread out under him like this, skin hot and sticky with sweat, breath smelling salty-sweet and fizzy from the popcorn and beer they shared in bed, pretending to watch a movie but really just playing footsie under the sheets until Louis’s too hard and breathless to take it anymore because now he's apparently the type of person who gets hard from playing footsie. (It’s not his fault, it’s _Harry’s_ ; Harry is so attractive that touching him at all makes Louis lose sense of time and space and rationality.) 

But here they are now, drunk on the twelve-pack of beer Matt reluctantly bought for them, giggling and rolling around in Harry’s bunk, empty cans getting in the way because neither of them can be bothered to toss them aside when kissing feels this _good_ , so they just crinkle, getting dimpled under their shifting weight. 

There are things Louis wants, but he can’t remember how to get there, how to ask for them. It’s always like this with Harry; Louis has ten thousand fantasies, and he’s planning to indulge them all eventually, but whenever they get enough time and privacy to fool around, he’s struck dumb with yearning and can’t do anything but kiss and touch and suck and grope blindly. It would be embarrassing if he had his wits about him enough to be embarrassed, but thankfully he’s too lost in Harry to remember to be properly self-conscious. 

Harry’s mouth is swollen, slick under Louis’s teeth. Louis found out only two weeks ago that he doesn’t have to stop himself from flat-out _biting_ Harry’s lips like he always wants to; he can just _do_ it, and Harry _lets him_ , sighs into it and arches his back, whimpering low and lovely. Now that he knows, he can’t _stop_ , he’s constantly pushing, seeing how hard he can bite, how _deep_ he can sink his teeth in until Harry cries out, until his lips are recognizably raw, even from a distance. 

Louis bites him and bites him, making him hiss and yelp and writhe on the bed, so fucking hot and _his_ , somehow, like the universe fucked up and made a mistake, allowed something magical to happen to just a normal lad from Donny.

Somehow he manages to get a hold of himself enough to tug all of Harry’s clothes off save for his socks, which he’s too lazy and desperate to think much about. He helps him pull his shirt over his head and tug his pants down over the soft jiggle of his thighs so he can _touch_ , moving wide, hungry palms over his stomach, his hips, his shoulders, through his hair. Harry is the best thing in the world to touch, and somehow _Louis_ gets to touch him, which seems like a dream but whatever, Louis is going to take advantage of this crack in the fiber of reality while he has it, and touch, and touch, and touch. He digs his thumbs in and uses his nails, squeezing the soft bits of padding at Harry’s hips while they kiss so roughly that when Louis finally pulls away with a smacking sound, Harry is _breathless_ , ruined. The prettiest thing ever, and Louis decides he wants a picture ( _needs one_ , really), so he forces himself to disentangle, peppering soft, frantic kisses down Harry’s pale chest, spit shining under the glare of the overhead light. 

“Where are you going?” Harry slurs, reaching with grabby hands, slow like he’s in a haze. His hands are enormous and look absurd as they grapple in the air, empty. Louis has to have them, too, so he grabs Harry’s wrists and presses a sloppy, wet kiss to each palm, cheeks hot in the sudden chill now that he’s not drowning in Harry’s fever-want. 

He stumbles across the room to his bunk to find his mobile, head spinning. He’s drunker than he thought, voice coming out hoarse as he says, “Photoshoot time,” waving his phone in the air. “Want a picture. Want loads of pictures.” 

“Don’t you wanna blowjob more?” Harry asks, but he’s a fucking ham and can’t resist a camera, so he eagerly complies anyway, spreading out on the bed dramatically, flushed and naked and beautiful. His eyes flutter closed, and Louis’s heart clenches because no one should look so lovely surrounded by empty beer cans. He snaps a few pictures with shaking fingers, standing in the center of the room, hard and dizzy with arousal. Harry is the fittest boy he’s ever looked at, and he gets to _touch him_ , kiss him, sleep next to him sometimes, if they’re lucky. The whole thing is just…it’s amazing. Louis is amazed. 

He grins stupidly, sucking at the insides of his cheeks to try and control it but failing. “Well, yeah, but just wait, gimme a second. Gotta immortalize this sordid scene, my sexy naked boyfriend surrounded by empty beer cans because he’s a very classy lad.” 

“Boyfriend?” Harry sighs happily, smiling a slow, dopey smile, dimples and all.

“Yeah,” Louis mumbles, grabbing a pillow from his own bunk and tossing it to Harry. “Here, cover yourself up for a second. This one is for Facebook. Can’t have you starkers on Facebook.” 

“Naughty,” Harry giggles, arranging the pillow between his legs to cover his junk. Louis shivers, it’s _his_ pillow that’s touching Harry’s hard, leaking prick right now, and that thought alone makes him sway on the spot. He’ll be able to smell him on it later, press his face into the cotton and inhale and know that Harry was there, is _his_. He shivers, saving the picture even though it’s overexposed and Harry looks passed-out drunk and about six shaders whiter than he actually is. It’s still a masterpiece. 

“R’you really gonna put that on Facebook?” Harry slurs, kicking the pillow away and taking his cock in hand, jerking it idly so the foreskin kisses over the head but only just. Louis’s mouth waters. 

“Yeah, dare me?” he asks, throwing his mobile back onto his bunk and clambering awkwardly on all fours back over to Harry, distracted again, drinking in all that pale skin with greedy eyes. He wants to bite him pretty much _everywhere_ , he wants to taste the spicy, musky sweat from the crease of his thigh, where his pubes are thinnest and softest. “No one will know your prick is under that pillow. No one will know m’about to snog you until you can’t breathe,” he explains, kicking a few of the empty cans off the bed, where they clatter to the floor. 

He grins at Harry cheekily, but for some reason Harry’s smile flickers, fades, and gets darker around the edges. It's not a full-blown pout, though, so Louis lets it go for now. He’s too drunk to worry about it, and anyway he’s not posting that picture on Facebook this _second_ ; he’s taking advantage of the empty room, which is much more important. Louis sighs, catching Harry’s puffy lips in his own, sucking them hard before biting again, and Harry melts a little, so he doesn’t think about it again, the way Harry’s dimple disappeared, the way he very nearly _frowned._ There are more pressing things to think about, honestly. 

They somehow end up on their sides with their legs twined and their cocks grinding together, which is maddening because Louis is still wearing his pants, which are sticky and wet now that they’ve both been leaking onto them. He likes to tease Harry like this, get him close before he’s even gotten fully undressed. Watching Harry get so desperate for it makes him feel powerful, and he _loves_ the way Harry gets impatient, pulling at his clothes and murmuring, _please, please Lou, wanna see. lemme touch it, lemme…just wanna blow you. anything_.

And Harry is desperate like that right now, whimpering low in his throat like this is _hurting_ him, face crumpled in frustration as he whines wordlessly. Louis ruts against him, palming down the back of his thigh to feel the lithe muscles in it. He’s just about to suck a mark into the dip under his collarbone for good measure when Harry says it. Just throws his head back, looking for all the world like he’s gonna cry, hands biting fiercely into Louis’s shoulders as he murmurs, “Lou, _fuck me_ , please, please.” 

And very little could snap Louis out of whatever haze he’s in, but that certainly does it. He’s heard Harry say a lot of shit before, a lot of _filth_ , honestly, but never _that thing_ , specifically. It makes his stomach tighten up fiercely, his cock twitching hard in his pants, precum smearing against the thin fabric. “Wait…what? What did you say?” he asks, fingers spasming on Harry’s thigh. 

He half-expects Harry to brush it off and pretend it never happened, say something else, something less _huge_. Instead, he lets out a pained groan, grinds his cock _hard_ against Louis, and says it again: “Want you to fuck me. Like, fuck me for real.” Then he pouts, sneaking a hand between their bodies and feeling Louis out, groping him through the wet fabric of his pants, making him hiss and cant into the pressure helplessly. “Please?” Harry adds, though it’s false politeness, like the tacked on sentiment to their DO NOT DISTURB sign. 

“Haz,” Louis breathes, mouth suddenly so fucking dry he can hardly speak without it coming out strangled and hoarse. “Don’t…you’re not _serious_ , are you?” But the thing is, Harry _is_ serious, and Louis knows it. He can tell by the way he’s frowning so resolutely, palming Louis’s cock firmly and possessively like he’s got a point to prove. Louis can’t imagine what that point might be. 

“Why not?” Harry asks mournfully, sticking his already obscene lower lip out even further. Louis ducks in to suck on it reflexively, but Harry arches _away_ , denying Louis, which is perhaps a first. “Do you not want to?” 

Louis is dumbfounded. “Jesus Christ, Harry, of _course_ I want to, ‘course I do. Want to so fucking bad,” he says in a rush, because the _last_ thing he wants is for Harry Styles to think he doesn’t want to fuck him. There are very few things in the whole universe that Louis wants more than to fuck Harry, but not…not _here_. Like this. In a creaky bunkbed littered in empty beer cans with nothing but a shitty lock, a suitcase tower, and a handmade sign keeping them safe from a whole _house_ full of reality show contestants. It’s, like, the worst possible time and setting, and even _Louis_ , who is drunk and in love and has the most questionable self-control _ever_ but _especially_ when it comes to Harry, knows this. “I _really_ , really want to fuck you, okay?” he repeats, smoothing his hand up to Harry’s bare arse and squeezing it gently, worried that if he does it any rougher he won’t be able to stop himself. But thank god, Harry softens a little, the corners of his mouth turning up into a faint, sweet smile, like Louis said the right thing. 

“Then do it,” Harry murmurs, snapping Louis’s waistband before sneaking his hand inside it, fingers hot and clumsy and fucking _electric_ as they brush up against Louis’s sensitive cockhead. “I just…I want you in me. Like, really bad.” 

“God,” Louis chokes out because he might be dying, truly. This is how he dies, Harry Styles saying _I want you in me_ when he literally can’t possibly fulfill that request in a reasonable or safe way. “ _Harry_ , I can’t, we can’t…,” he starts, thinking, _not here, not now, what if I hurt you, what if I’m bad at it?_ It’s like…he thought they had some sort of unspoken rule where they wouldn’t try bum stuff until they weren’t sharing a room with three other boys, until they had, like, _googled_ how to do it the right way. But maybe that was just _Louis’s_ unspoken rule with himself, and Harry is on an entirely different page because _here he is_ , testing Louis’s will, begging him to _fuck him for real,_ like that’s something people just _do_. 

“Why not?” Harry pouts, eyes getting dark again, a line through his brow. And he looks so _grumpy_ and _sad_ that Louis almost forgets his mature resistance and pushes Harry on his back to give him what he wants. He bites his own lip hard, though, trying to ignore that Harry is fucking _gorgeous_ , pink and bitten and perfect while he humps up against Louis’s thigh in short, staccato bucks. 

He’s really hard to say no to, and Louis is pretty proud of himself for sighing deeply and painstakingly explaining, “There are so many reasons, and _none_ of them have to do with me not wanting to, okay? S’just, like…it’s a big first, I think, and everyone is still downstairs, and also we need, like, _stuff_ to do it right,” he trails off awkwardly at the end because he _knows_ there’s _stuff_ involved, but he’s not sure exactly _what stuff_ , if it’s just condoms and lube, or if you need, like, a full-fledged enema or something. He has no fucking idea; he only realized he was gay after he met Harry Styles, and he hasn’t dedicated much thought or concern to the _stuff_ required to fuck a boy for real because he didn’t think they were gonna do that until it was a sensical thing to do. 

“You don’t _need_ stuff,” Harry whines, sighing dramatically like he’s some fucking gay-sex expert. “In porn, they just stick it in.” 

Louis makes a face because _certainly_ this is just Harry being absurd, begging Louis to fuck him like they do in porn while they’re both half- _drunk_. “Haz, you’re not a porn star, and this, like, _isn’t_ porn. You’re sixteen, and I’ve _never done this before_ , and I’m not just gonna stick my prick in you, s’much as I want to, okay?” Louis admits in a rush, cheeks getting hot because he _hates_ admitting to Harry that he’s never done something before, preferring to maintain the illusion that since he’s older, he’s somehow more experienced with everything. 

Harry studies him, face dark and unreadable. Then, after a moment, he says, “You _have_ done it before, though. You’ve fucked a girl. You fucked _her_ ,” he mumbles the last bit, averting his eyes because he can’t even say Hannah’s _name_ without getting all weird. Louis is equal parts baffled and endeared by it; he can’t really understand why Harry is jealous of Hannah when Louis _broke up with her to be with him_ after realizing he’s been _gay_ his entire life, and he hasn’t looked back once. It makes him feel warm and fluttery to know that Harry thinks he’s someone worth being jealous about, someone worth keeping. 

He sighs raggedly, shaking his head, brow nodding against Harry’s. He doesn’t…he doesn’t want to _talk_ about fucking Hannah. It was weird and awkward and bad every time it happened, and he was usually drunker than he is now, so. It’s not like he’s _experienced_ in the act of fucking or anything. “So I’ve been with a girl, but that’s different. Girls get wet. You don’t need _stuff_ for a girl. Just…Harry, this is a bad idea. Lemme do something else, lemme fuck you _proper-like_ when we live together and have our own posh bed, yeah?” 

Harry makes a cut-off groaning sound in the back of his throat, mouth still slack and half-pouting and all together miserable. He slides his hands up Louis’s chest and hooks them around the back of his neck, pulling him a little closer, his sweat smelling sharp and golden and boozy, this moody drunk boy who doesn’t even know why he wants what he wants. Louis loves him so fucking much. “I hate…,” Harry starts, sighing and fidgeting. “I hate that you’ve _done_ things with her that you haven’t done with me,” he finally huffs out before pitching forward and hiding his frown in Louis’s shoulder, like he knows he’s being a tosser. 

And there it is. Louis blinks, a little stunned, heart pounding so hard it’s making both of them rock in time with the most fragile tremor. “Harry,” he says gently because what the fuck else is there to say?! It doesn’t even _feel_ like he’s done things with Hannah that he hasn’t done with Harry because _everything_ with Harry, every single thing, is so new and exciting and amazing that it feels like a first. Louis feels like he had his first _kiss_ with Harry, even though he’s technically been snogging girls since fifth year. Being with Harry is a revelation, and somehow it seems not only rude but _impossible_ to compare what they’re doing to whatever awkward, ritual fumbling he did with Hannah because he felt like he had to. He wants to tell Harry all this, just squeeze him tight and assure him, _you don’t have a single thing in the world to worry about_ , but he can’t get the words out, there are too many; they’re too much. 

Harry looks fucking devastated, though. He’s not meeting Louis’s eyes, and his cock, which is usually capable of staying hard even in the most embarrassing situations (Zayn busting in, for example), is softening up between them, like Louis has wounded him so spectacularly that it fractured his otherwise resilient teenage enthusiasm. Louis, who has been soft ever since they started talking about Hannah, feels absolutely horrible. “I know I’m being a twat,” Harry mumbles then, voice muffled against Louis’s shoulder. “But I still…still want you to fuck me. Want you to do everything to me you ever did to her. It feels _unfair_ like this.” 

Louis cards a shaky hand through Harry’s curls, feeling quite suddenly sober, even though his stomach is still roiling with carbonation. “Harry,” he says again, swallowing thickly, “I don’t know if I ever told you this, like, as clearly as you needed to hear it, but fucking Hannah _didn’t mean anything_. That’s why I _did it_ , because it wasn’t, like, huge or important or life-changing or anything. I was usually drunk. The first time was at a party, and my friends were doing it _literally in the same room_ , so it was just…what I was supposed to do, too.” 

Harry _harrumphs_ wordlessly, so Louis continues, heart pounding because he’s still fucking _terrified_ every time he’s really honest with Harry, every time he reveals how much he fucking _loves_ him, how different this is from anything he’s ever felt in his entire life. His throat is dry as he adds, “I want my first time with you to be perfect, yeah? Like, with a nice bed and the right stuff so I don’t hurt you and, like, time and privacy...and fucking candles and rose petals and classical music playing in the background on one of those old-fashioned grammy-phone things.” 

Harry is still in his arms for a moment, and then he tilts his head back to look at Louis, smiling. It’s a real smile, too, one of his dimples creating the most beautiful shadow on his cheek, and Louis shudders in relief. “You mean a gramophone?” Harry asks, very slowly. 

“Yeah, whatever. One of those. Or I could hire a professional concert pianist to serenade us,” he jokes, shrugging, and Harry actually _laughs_ reflexive and over-eager, snorting darkly, which Louis absolutely _adores_. Apparently, all is right in the world again. He’s the boy who makes Harry laugh, who keeps him bright and magnetic and smiling all the time. Louis _hates_ making Harry sad, so he keeps going, determined to crack him, to bring out his other dimple, to get him hard and breathless and begging again. “Hazza, when I fuck you, s’gonna be so good, I’m gonna fuck you right, gonna fuck you perfect,” he breathes in his ear, and Harry sort of squeaks, cock twitching between their bellies as he grinds closer. “Okay?” 

“Okay,” Harry murmurs, nuzzling against Louis’s throat and opening his mouth slick and wet over his Adam’s apple. “I just…hate it. S’not fair that she’s had you like that when I haven’t.” 

Louis’s heart clenches at having hurt Harry before he’s struck with a sudden flash of cosmic brilliance. “What about…what if I do something that I’ve _never_ done before, not with her, not ever?” he asks, anxiety and excitement spiking violently into his throat at the mere idea.

Harry freezes for a moment as he considers it, then he whimpers, rolling his hips lewdly against Louis, his cock definitely interested again. “Okay,” he murmurs, breath hot against the thunder of Louis’s pulse. “Like what?” 

Louis has to think for a moment because _everything_ with Harry feels like something he’s never done with Hannah, because sex feels _different_ when you’re in love, _everything_ feels different. He thinks rapidly, palming up Harry’s thighs and gripping his arse, squeezing him until he sighs, breath coming out in a low, strangled hiss. His fingers inch deeper into his crack, where his skin gets softer and more crinkled. Then it hits Louis: he could do any _number_ of things, things that don’t require the elusive addition of _stuff_ , to Harry’s arse without actually _fucking_ it. So many things. He cautiously dips deeper, rubbing a tentative fingertip over Harry’s rim, where he’s warm and sweat-damp. “What if…what if I lick you here? Instead of fucking you?” Louis breathes after a moment, mouth suddenly so flooded with hungry spit at the mere _notion_ of doing something so _hot_ , so filthy. 

Harry’s eyes flutter closed, and Louis feels his hole twitch against his finger, which is _unspeakably_ hot, so hot he’s fully hard again, aching and flexing in the humid space between their twined bodies. 

“You’d do that?” Harry says then, sounding positively overwhelmed, voice nothing but spit and gravel. “Rim me?” 

And Louis has never fucking heard it called that in his life, doesn’t actually know that the technical term for licking a boy’s arse is _rim_ , apparently, but okay. He feels stupid, and like he hasn’t watched nearly enough gay porn, but it doesn’t make him want to do _it_ , whatever _it’s_ officially called, any less. In fact, he’s so fucking turned on by the thought of getting his mouth on Harry, of licking him out, of _tasting him_ there that his stomach won’t stop swooping, leaving him tingling, lightheaded. “Yeah,” he answers weakly. 

Harry makes a wordless, strangled sound, and Louis presses his finger against the ring of muscle, rubbing experimentally where he’s hot and tight. It’s not the _first_ time he’s touched Harry here or anything; he once accidentally brushed against it when they were in the shower, and Harry had gotten so shivery and hard he ended up rubbing him there until the water went lukewarm around them, until Harry came breathless and shuddering while he rutted against Louis’s stomach, and Niall waggled his eyebrows at them dramatically when they finally tried to sneak out of the bathroom, flushed and sheepish. It had been fucking insane and scorchingly hot, and Louis has wanked too many times since then to the memory of Harry’s hole spasming madly against his fingertips as he came. They haven’t really had a chance to experiment with it more since then, meaning Louis hasn’t taken the chance to make it come up (he feels like an idiot for not thinking of it), so now, with the _intent_ of taking it further, Louis is fucking _gagging for it_ , dizzy with how intense it feels to touch Harry here, at his core. 

“D’you want me to? Would that be okay?” he asks, since Harry is still silent against him, even though he’s pushing back against the pressure of Louis’s finger like he wants it. 

It feels so good and so dirty, and Louis wants to _taste_ , so he swallows thickly, letting go of Harry so he can put that finger into his mouth, see what he’s in for. 

“If _you_ want—,” Harry starts to say, but then he cuts himself off, eyes getting wide and dark and stricken as he watches Louis suck his index finger into his mouth. “Oh, my god,” he breathes, like he can’t believe it. 

Louis can’t believe it, either. Harry tastes so _good_. He’s already dizzy from the heady, human flavor of Harry’s arse, how it’s salty like sweat, musky like his cock, but also something _else_ , something more bitter, maybe, and it’s so fucking hot and dirty and unbelievable that Louis’s cock flexes hard in his pants as he sucks greedily. He pulls his finger out with a wet, rude sound. “ _Yes_ , I want to, let me,” he says mindlessly, already manhandling Harry’s suddenly limp, unresisting body onto his stomach. “Fuck, Haz, I want to so bad.” 

“Oh, my god, _oh, my god_ ,” Harry says again, like it’s all he can remember how to say. “I can’t believe…oh, god. Fuck, Louis,” he gasps, arching his back and pushing his arse into the air a little, obscenely parting the soft, pale swell of his cheeks so Louis can see his hole. Louis draws a fingers over it gently before rubbing directly into it, loving how Harry softens, opens up a little, like he’s built for Louis to push into. And this…this is mad. Louis never in his whole _life_ thought he’d be near moved to _tears_ at the idea of licking another boy’s arsehole, but here he is, practically shaking with how badly he wants to get Harry all wet. So, so badly. He cracks him open with his thumbs, settling down onto his stomach between Harry’s thighs, mouth so full of spit he could drool if he let himself. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, blushing because he usually calls Harry _fit_ or _hot_ or _gorgeous_ , maybe, if he’s feeling particularly soppy, but _beautiful_ just slips out sometimes, true and raw. 

It’s something you’d call a girl, and he worries for a minute that it’s going to set Harry off again, but he just groans into his pillow, kicking lazily with one of his legs, toes flexing against the sheets as he whimpers, “You think?” 

“Yeah, of course, so fucking much,” Louis breathes, kissing up the back of Harry’s thigh, where he’s pale and peachy, where the coarse hair of his calves gives way to something softer. He nuzzles against the curve of his arse, pressing soft, exploratory kisses over the crest of it, amazed as Harry’s skin draws tight into a ripple of gooseflesh. _So insanely beautiful_ , Louis thinks, and he feels _drunk_ again, lost to this crazy thing as he kisses his way closer to Harry’s crack. About to lick into it. _Lick a boy’s arse_ , and _fuck_ , he can’t breathe, _god_. 

He can smell him already, and he thinks it smells so fucking good; he wonders what that says about him, that he loves the way Harry’s arse smells. It’s not like it’s a _dirty smell_ or anything, but it smells like _arse_ , definitely, organic and dark and dizzying, so intensely _private_ that Louis is gonna fucking faint. He inhales deeply to breathe him in, resting his cheek on Harry’s thigh for a moment to steady himself. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” Harry says, flat-out _trembling_ in intervals, vibrating under Louis’s touch before he goes still for a few seconds, hips pumping involuntarily against the bed. 

“I know,” Louis mumbles, sliding his palm up Harry’s cheek before pulling it gently to the side, exposing his winking hole. He’s _pink_ there but not bubblegum pink, the skin a little darker in his crack than it is elsewhere, dusky and rosy and so perfect that Louis’s breath catches in his throat. He’s gonna _taste_ that, feel it under his tongue. “But I want to,” he whispers, and then he does. Leans forward and just kisses Harry’s hole, brushing his lips chastely against the pucker, and it tightens up, Harry squirming and making a broken sort of noise. 

That’s all it takes to put Louis into a fucking trance. He forgets about everything: the shitty lock, the tower of suitcases, the fact that he made Harry _sad_ only minutes ago. All he can think about is kissing Harry _again_ , and again. Soft, wet kisses with just his lips, his eyes fluttering closed in overwhelm as he holds Harry open and kisses him like he kisses his mouth when they’re just starting out, slow and lazy and hungry, little flicks of his tongue between his lips, breath coming out in gasps. Harry is rocking back to meet him, making these wrecked, gargling, out-of-control sounds, but Louis can hardly hear him over the solid pound of blood in his head. He’s _doing this_ ; he can’t _believe_ he’s doing it, that this is a thing people do, and he’s been missing out on it until this moment, leaving Harry’s arse woefully uneaten all this time. 

His kissing dissolves into something messier, sloppier. He licks up and down Harry’s crack wetly a few times, then gets sort of desperate and licks _deeper_ , really using his tongue as a muscle, pushing it past the greedy clench of Harry’s hole so he’s dipping the tip just _inside_ him. It’s totally unbelievable when he feels the give, and Harry arches his back, yelps. 

“Does…does it taste bad?” Harry asks breathlessly, screwing back toward Louis’s mouth like he doesn’t care if it does or doesn’t. 

“God, _no_ , Harry, tastes _amazing_ ,” Louis slurs. “So good, you feel so good, and I love this, okay?” 

“ _Fuck_ , okay,” Harry growls, trying to prop himself up on his elbows for a second and collapsing almost immediately, reduced to a mess of tremors. He just lies there then and grinds his arse lewdly against Louis’s insistent tongue, really letting Louis fuck him open, push up inside. It feels fucking _filthy_ , Harry’s wet arse spread on either side of his face, his nose in his crack and his chin brushing against his balls every time he drills his tongue in deep, jaw straining hard because Harry is _tight_ , his walls flickering and clamping down every time Louis gets a really good stroke in. It hurts, actually, and he’s seeing stars from the lack of oxygen, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. He _is_ fucking Harry, just like Harry _told_ him to, only he’s doing it with his tongue instead of his prick. Still, he thinks his creativity is pretty impressive. 

Harry is being so _loud_ , practically sobbing into his pillow, hands fisting wildly into the sheets. Louis pulls back reluctantly to breathe, face all wet and slippery with his own drool, Harry’s arse _glistening_ in front of him, spread and pink and twitching. He looks _swollen_ , fucked, even, and Louis stares, gasping. “You like it?” he asks Harry, rubbing his open palms over his arse, thrilled by the way it jiggles, so soft and bitable. He gets his teeth in it then, nipping the curve gently, loving when Harry pushes himself up into it, keening. 

“So amazing,” he says, voice wrecked, dazed. “Can’t even describe it. Your mouth…s’warm, like, really hot, really wet,” he murmurs, hole twitching visibly as he says it. Louis exhales hotly over it, tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue before flicking over Harry’s center, not able to resist when he’s spread out and gorgeous and _wanting_ like this. “Feels’really dirty. In the best way,” Harry breathes, and Louis nods, even though he can’t see him. 

“I love it, love you,” he hisses, kissing back down Harry’s crack and lingering over his hole, which he swirls his tongue into, pushing against the resistance. His jaw aches, but he could do this for-fucking-ever. He doesn’t care. 

Louis licks him messily and lazily for a while longer, teasing, maybe, but not with the intention of teasing; he’s just feeling self-indulgent, and Harry tastes so fucking good, is making the prettiest sounds, and Louis wants to _hear_ them, wants to see how little it takes to get Harry begging. He’s lapping back and forth over Harry’s hole when Harry starts whining, arching his hips up off the bed, making his cock bob heavily against his stomach, huge and red and dripping on the sheets. Louis is too absorbed in eating him out to even realize what’s happening, that Harry’s getting his hand around his dick and tugging on it, fucking down into his fist so that his arse pushes back onto Louis’s tongue on the downstroke. He just knows Harry’s getting noisy and moving around a lot, bucking rhythmically and riding his face, and it’s so fucking hot and overwhelming and graceless that all he can do is try to hold his arse apart so he can keep his mouth on him, can keep fucking his tongue up into him greedily. 

When Harry comes, Louis feels it in his _arse_ first, his hole clenching and tightening over and over again in time with his stilted bucks, so hot and sudden and amazing as Harry yelps and locks up, voice nothing but a ripped, unrecognizable version of itself as he chokes out a muffled, “ _Louis_ ,” before going limp. 

Louis is greedy and doesn’t want to stop, so he laps gently at Harry’s still-twitching hole for the minute it takes Harry to recover, swirling his tongue sloppy and soft over everything he can reach, murmuring wordlessly to himself. He realizes eventually that he’s humping the bed, circling his hips and getting off on the sticky drag of cotton, so fucking mindlessly turned on by having felt Harry come that he didn’t even _notice_ how close he was himself. He’s planning on coming here, finishing in his pants while he sucks idly at Harry’s puffy, swollen hole, when Harry pulls _away_ for some reason, leaving Louis panting and drooling and totally dazed on the bed. “What…where are you going?” he asks, affronted. He moves his jaw around then, rubbing it, fingers coming back slick with spit. He has a cramp, sort of, but it’s hard to focus on anything when he’s so fucking hard. 

“C’mere,” Harry begs, rolling onto his back and beckoning messily, arms open for Louis to crawl into. Louis does, collapsing onto Harry’s chest and kissing him messily, making Harry sigh and suck his lips into his mouth and pull back to groan, “Fuck, taste like me, s’hot,” before pitching forward for more. 

Louis is content to snog Harry until he comes in his pants while grinding solidly into his thigh when Harry shoves him off, hands open on his shoulders. “You, now, lemme,” he mumbles, which makes no fucking sense, none at all. Louis tries to figure it out, but Harry is _distracting_ , the green of his eyes totally blown out to near nothingness by the wild spread of his pupils, cheeks stained in two violent spots of red. He’s so lovely, and Louis just stares at a him in a sort of dumbfounded way until Harry whimpers and pouts, like he’s not getting what he wants, and because the whole _point of this_ is to make Harry happy, Louis snaps out of it. 

“Do what?” 

“ _Louis_ , please, c’mon,” Harry begs, and Louis doesn’t get how he can sound so impatient and needy when he’s already come. “Lemme do it now. Do you,” Harry explains, but it’s not much of an explanation. 

“How d’you want to get me off?” he breathes, confused and turned on and in love and scary-close to the edge, given that all he’s done is hump the bed and lick Harry’s arse. 

“Want you to sit on m’face,” Harry says, and _well_. Louis can’t complain about a lack of clarity _now_ ; he blushes fiercely and hides his face in Harry’s neck, inhaling raggedly. 

“Like…you want to blow me or—,” he starts, but Harry flat-out _bites his shoulder_ , groaning in wordless frustration. Harry isn’t usually a biter, so Louis shuts up, stunned. 

“ _No_ , want your arse. Wanna do what you did, wanna taste you,” he mumbles, and Louis can’t _blame him_ , really, but _fuck_. It was so fucking _hot_ to lick Harry out like that, but it feels different to be on the receiving end, _vulnerable_ , somehow, to offer this objectively gross place to the boy he’s most invested in impressing. He bites his lip, shivering, thinking about how Harry has such a gorgeous mouth and how the way it feels around his cock is the most amazing, world-ending thing that’s ever happened to him, but it’s _different_ than getting his arse licked. 

“Erm,” he says, heart rabbiting fiercely. “Are you sure?” 

Harry throws his head back and _whines_ , making the most childish, bratty sound Louis has _ever_ heard come out of someone who isn’t an actual toddler. It’s truly impressive. “ _Yes_ , yes, yes, yes, m’ _so_ sure, please, _god_ , Louis, if you don’t let me lick your bum, I’m literally gonna _die_ , m’going mad, okay, just _please,_ please, let me,” Harry begs, and Louis is fucking _floored_ , never in a million years did he think he would be scrambling out of his pants and clambering up the bed on his knees with burning cheeks about to let a boy eat him out, but here he is. So hard he can’t think, half-mortified and half-drunk as Harry shimmies down the bed to get in the right position, like he can’t even wait for Louis to properly situate himself. 

Louis holds his breath, bracing his arms against the wall because he doesn’t trust his hands to touch Harry right now lest he do something stupid, reckless, too rough. He just hides his face in his elbow and tries not to think about the fact that Harry’s perfect mouth is gonna be on his _arse_ in a few seconds, his breath already huffing close and hot and humid on the inside of Louis’s quaking thigh. Harry makes a strangled, overwhelmed sort of noise and reaches up, prying Louis’s cheeks apart decidedly and craning his neck up off the bed, not wasting any time at _all_ getting his tongue buried in Louis’s crack and fuck, _fuck_ , Louis nearly keels over. 

Harry was _right_ ; it’s absolutely indescribable. Louis jumps away reflexively and lets out an embarrassing sound because it’s so _slick_ , so sudden, so fucking intimate that he can’t take it, but Harry _can_ , can take anything, everything. He latches his hands onto Louis’s waist and tugs him back down hard, whimpering impatiently, letting him go so that he can hold him apart properly and get his mouth where he wants it. Louis practically slams his forehead into the wall, desperate for another point to anchor himself. Harry…Harry’s mouth is so wet, the wettest thing he’s ever felt, incessantly wet and hot and sloppy as he laps graceless and hungry at Louis’s hole, making noise all the while, like he’s crying. His moans vibrate and almost tickle, so intense and sensational that Louis’s alternating between bearing down and nearly suffocating Harry and twisting away from him in overwhelm.

Louis can’t remember why he was embarrassed to do this, why he thought it would be weird. It just feels so fucking _good_ , amazing, life-changing, the way Harry is too desperate for finesse, too hungry to worry about the strain on his neck or the fact that Louis’s balls are just resting on his forehead, which should be awkward but somehow isn’t. The whole of Louis’s skin is sweat-prickled and sensitive, his legs shaking from the exertion of holding himself up without crushing Harry, but even then it’s _good_ , so good. 

He just rides Harry’s face for a while, too unstable to take his cock in hand and bring himself off even though he’s well aware that it would only take a few firm pumps to do it, that he’s achingly, dangerously close. He bucks and grinds down onto the slick, _slick_ searing heat of Harry’s tongue, realizing quite suddenly that he may have touched _Harry_ in this spot before, but this is the first time _ever_ that anything save for his own tentative finger has come _anywhere_ near _his_ arsehole. The revelation makes him weak, legs spasming on either side of Harry’s head, cock twitching so hard a slick of precum sluices out of the slit, shining as it drips. “Haz, you’re so good, so amazing,” he murmurs, wrenching one hand off the wall to clumsily palm down into the absolute wreck of Harry’s hair, which is damp with perspiration, curls frayed to fluff, worried into tangles. Louis makes a fist in it, tugging gently, heart pounding with how fucking much he _loves_ this boy, who is the first person to ever touch him here, and with his _mouth_ , no less. 

Touch is an understatement. Even _lick_ seems like an understatement because Harry’s _drowning_ , really, roughly fucking his tongue against Louis’s rim, breaching his hole every odd thrust but mostly just dancing over it, around it, making messy, loud slurps that have Louis slick with his spit all the way down the inside of his thighs. Harry eats arse like he sucks dick, so sloppy and eager and self-indulgent, taking his time and getting in deep, choking himself before he hums in pleasure, like all he wants in the world is to have any and all of Louis in his mouth.

Louis is trying to un-cement one of his hands from the wall long enough to touch his dick and push himself over the edge when he notices that _Harry_ is moving under him, rocking rhythmically, hips shifting against the mattress as he eats Louis out. Louis realizes with a sharp, needy pang in his chest that it’s because he’s _furiously wanking_ , that he got hard again without Louis noticing, just from licking Louis’s arse, holding him spread over his face and diving into him like it’s what he was made to do. “Harry, are you…fuck,” Louis chokes out, twisting to watch, stunned by the way Harry’s fucking up into the tight ring of his fist, cock big and red and delicious, and Louis _wants it_ , wants to feel for himself. 

He swings his leg over Harry’s head, pulling his arse away from his mouth so suddenly that there’s an obscene smacking sound followed by a ragged, “ _No, Lou_ , please,” Harry reaches blindly for Louis, but he doesn’t have to wait very long before Louis is giving it to him again, lowering his slick arse back down onto Harry’s face after switching positions so that he’s facing away from Harry instead of bracing himself against the wall. This way, he can get his mouth on Harry’s dick and desperately rut his own cock into the flickering plane of Harry’s abdominals, which are sweat-dewy and rippling soft-over-hard, the perfect pressure to push against. 

Louis can’t wait for it, batting Harry’s hand away and sucking a searing kiss onto his cockhead, tongue lashing as he groans at the perfect taste of him, salty and bitter and half-baked. He grips him by the base and sucks him down, jaw still stiff from eating him out, but who fucking cares, not Louis, all he wants is all of Harry everywhere. He flattens his tongue to make his mouth tight with suction, and Harry cries out, voice trapped against Louis’s slick skin, the vibration of it making him yelp, making his hole clench up against Harry’s soft, prodding tongue. Everything is so _much_ , wet and hot and messy and filthy, and all it takes is a few clumsy bucks against Harry’s tight little body for Louis to shoot off between them, and with that, Harry follows a second time, thighs spasming wildly as his cock twitches in the heat of Louis’s mouth, a single, weak pulse of come dribbling out for Louis to swallow. 

He collapses on Harry then, giving him his full weight because he can’t possibly, _possibly_ ever move again. He just lies there shuddering, eyes fixed in muted wonder at Harry’s prick as it flexes and shrinks back into its foreskin, crinkled and lovely and still so _big_. He brushes his knuckles against it, loving the way it’s shiny with the slick of spit. Louis wants Harry _covered_ in him, marked up in countless ways, so that even when there are cameras and they can’t touch, he can look at Harry and know that under his clothes, he still belongs to him. 

“Are you okay?” he croaks out, shivering because he can feel Harry’s labored breath, hot and shivery against his arse and the backs of his thighs, which are currently splayed over Harry’s chest and still wet from saliva. 

Harry presses a kiss to the curve of his bum, lips feeling swollen, fever-hot. “M’so okay. Better than okay, the very best,” he sighs contentedly, and Louis smiles privately to himself because _that_ , that is all he wants, until the end of the world. For Harry Styles to feel the very best. 

Louis starts to peel himself off, but Harry makes a small, choked-off noise in protest, holding him in place. “Don’t...stay,” he says, fingers digging into the meat of Louis’s quads, and he’s _exhausted_ , really, too exhausted to fight anything, so he just settles back onto Harry, trying to ignore the fact he’s lying in a puddle of his own jizz, that he’s on display like this. “M’enjoying the view,” Harry giggles after a moment, though, so Louis can’t really ignore that part. 

“Oh, really?” he asks, reaching behind himself and palming his arse experimentally, pulling one cheek back and releasing so it undulates back into place. Harry whimpers, moved, and Louis is quite pleased with himself. “You want to cuddle backward like this all the time, so you can ogle me’bum?” 

“Not all the time,” Harry whispers, smoothing his fingers down into the wet, sensitive crack, feeling Louis’s hole where it’s still wet and messy with spit. “But some of the time would be nice. You’re so fit, can hardly believe it.” 

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just blushes, hiding his smile in Harry’s thigh. A minute passes quietly, their breath slowing and skin cooling, but Harry keeps touching him and sighing muted sounds of awe that dissolve into frantic, helpless wheezes of breathy laughs as he walks up the curve of Louis’s bum with his index and middle fingers, singing an off-key, “The hills are aliiiiveee with the sound of muuuuusic,” when he reaches the crest. 

Louis would be offended, but Julie Andrews is the least offensive thing he can think of, so he lets it go. Plus, he’s terribly in love with Harry and is realizing with increasing clarity that he’ll let him do just about anything to him, even weird and embarrassing things. “The Alps were pointy,” he observes, arching his back to make the swell of his arse even more pronounced. “Please tell me my bum isn’t pointy like the Alps.” 

“Your bum is perfect and lovely,” Harry yawns, smacking his lips sleepily. “And not at all like the Alps.” 

Louis grins, feeling loved and attractive under the heat of Harry’s gaze. He nuzzles into his thigh, kissing it a few times before murmuring, “So…are you, like, really into that? Like, arse-to-mouth type of stuff? Because you came so hard for me, and then you got turned on again when I was letting you do me…,” Louis trails off, flushing all over because somehow even _saying_ what they did feels just as filthy, if not _filthier_ , than actually _doing_ it. 

Harry shrugs, the shift of his shoulders tight and aborted under Louis’s weight. “I like rimming porn, always have, but mostly it’s _you_ ,” he admits, spreading his huge hands over Louis’s arse and squeezing, palming his cheeks together, thumbs inching into the soft skin of his crack. Louis gasps. He can’t _help_ it, it’s just so strange and hot and overwhelming to be looked at like this, arse inches from Harry’s face. He knows from eating Harry out earlier that he’s close enough to smell, and just remembering how amazing it felt to have Harry broken open and exposed in the same dirty way makes his mouth water, his stomach plummet. 

“Me or my bum in particular?” Louis asks, wiggling the bum in question, pushing it up deliberately into the warm splay of Harry’s hands. 

“Both,” Harry sighs. “Like…sorry if this is weird, but I’ve wanted you to sit on my face for so fucking long, Lou.” 

Louis’s cheeks burn; he has to chew the inside of his lip lest he process this information too quickly and subsequently combust. Harry is the world’s filthiest, sexiest sixteen-year-old, and it’s _constantly_ blowing Louis away, stunning him silent. “You haven’t even _known_ me for that long,” he jokes, even though his voice comes out sort of reedy. “Can’t have possibly wanted it for _that_ long.” 

“Trust me,” Harry mumbles, thumbing right over Louis’s hole, making him tighten up and hiss in overwhelm. “I’ve thought about you sitting on my face for almost as long as I’ve known you, so.” 

Louis hides his blush in Harry’s thigh, thinking how he might just _die_ if Harry keeps talking, how he might get hard again if there wasn’t a sticky mess of cooling jizz coating his cock. “Jesus Christ, Harry,” he groans. It isn’t all _that_ surprising, really: Harry loves to suck him off, and it seems like his first instinct is to get whatever he likes or wants into his mouth. But even if it isn’t surprising, it’s still _devastating_ , so fucking hot to think about their mad, whirlwind courtship period during bootcamp and Spain and at Harry’s bungalow being punctuated by _face-sitting fantasies_ that Louis didn’t even know about. _God_. “You’re unbelievable.” 

“Are you freaked out?” Harry asks, voice tight with hesitation, Julie Andrews pausing her trek across the non-pointy Alps. 

“God, no. Just. You’re really amazing and really hot,” Louis murmurs, brushing his knuckles down the inside of Harry’s calf reassuringly. 

“I didn’t…,” Harry starts before inhaling raggedly, lungs failing to expand under the heavy sprawl of Louis’s weight. “I didn’t really think you’d wanna do it to me, though. Rim me, I mean. Like it would be something you thought about way in the future, after you were, like, properly into bum stuff. Thought it would gross you out if I brought it up.” 

Louis is truly offended now, and there’s no Julie Andrews to save him from letting out an indignant snort. He finally rolls off Harry, clumsily turning around so he can get a good look at him, at his wide green eyes and the mottled spots of color still high on his cheeks. Louis thinks he’s done a very good job of gracefully, gleefully, _fearlessly_ traipsing into the world of gay sex for a lad who somehow didn’t even realize he was gay until he fell in love with a boy, and he fucking _resents_ that Harry thinks otherwise, with no evidence at all to back his claim, save for the fact that Louis refused to drunkenly fuck him without a condom and lube for the first time. “ _Why_ would you think that? Have I been grossed out by anything at all with you yet? And what makes you think m’not _properly_ into bum stuff?”

Harry pouts, holding his hands open for Louis wordlessly, and Louis’s weak and incapable of resisting such things, so he uses the sheets to wipe off the come drying on his stomach before curling up in Harry’s arms, dragging him close and squeezing him. “M’sorry,” Harry says quietly after a minute. “I’m, like…I dunno. I’m insecure with you because I love you so much, and I worry that it’s _too_ much, that something I want or say is gonna scare you away.” 

Louis kisses Harry’s face then, his temple right up by his hairline where he’s spotty and broken out, the soft curve of his cheek, the peak of his eyebrow. He doesn’t know what to say to Harry except that he understands because he feels the exact same insecurity, but he wants to reassure him that he doesn’t need to _worry_ , not about a single thing, that he’ll never be scared away, never in a million years. “Baby,” he says gently, which always makes Harry get all fidgety and pink and smiley. “You could ask me to do something, like, _truly_ weird, and I’d think it was the hottest thing ever because I’m so fucking obsessed with you, yeah? Like, I’m not even kidding. I love you so, so much,” he murmurs, hiding his face in Harry’s hair and inhaling, chest feeling fizzy and light and full of butterflies because this is _a lot_ to tell someone, a lot to confess. 

Harry shudders, twisting in Louis’s arms so he can reach his mouth, to kiss him rough and wet and heavy with unsaid _sorrys,_ and Louis almost fucking passes out because Harry tastes just like him, his musk and sweat and arse. “Fuck,” he murmurs when they pull away, and Harry regards him quietly, eyes dark and wet. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles, followed by a sheepish, “m’sorry I said you weren’t properly into bum stuff...that wasn't fair. I just meant you haven’t wasted as much of your life wanking to gay porn as I have.” 

“I’m three hundred percent into bum stuff, Hazza,” Louis says, flicking his fringe out of his eyes and making a face, tongue pressed into his cheek, thinking of Harry’s perfect little arse, the way he opened up so easily for his tongue, the way he tasted more bitter and metallic the deeper Louis fucked him. _Ugh_. Louis is _so_ into bum stuff. 

Harry’s eyes get dark, and he frowns again. “Did you ever let _her_ do that? Eat your bum?” 

Louis’s eyes fly open, stomach twisting at the _absurdity_ of such a suggestion, and he’s almost _mad_ at Harry for even putting the image into his head. “ _No!_ Why would you even bring her _up_ right now, when we’re both naked?! Jesus _Christ,_ Harry, _of course_ not… never, only you,” he explains, and Harry crumples a little, eyes welling up, shoulders trembling. 

“God, m’sorry, Lou, m’so sorry, m’being so unfair,” he wails, rubbing his face into Louis’s collarbone, hiding. “It’s awful, but I’m just so jealous that she even exists. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s true. I just want _everything_ with you, I wanna be your _first_ , even though m’not, and you didn’t even _know me_ then. I know it makes, like, no sense, m’just…I dunno. I’m really sorry,” he trails off at the end, voice thick and low and regretful. 

Louis cards a hand through his hair, trying to recover from being forced to imagine doing things with his ex-girlfriend he never wants to imagine ever again and from hearing Harry say all the soppy, excessive things he thinks to himself on the daily but keeps inside because he’s still trying to play it cool half the time. _You are my first_ , he thinks, and he means it, even though it doesn’t make sense. It’s still true, though, so he kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth, flicking his tongue over the downturned pout of it. “You aren’t stupid,” he mumbles. “M’sorry that I had a girlfriend when we met, and m’sorry I didn’t figure out I was gay sooner…but Harry. If I _had_ met you, like, any time at all before I did, you would’ve been my first everything, and I wish you _had_ been, honestly, so much that it kind of feels like you are, anyway? But none of that stuff before even mattered, really. It isn’t like this. Nothing is like this,” he admits,, thumbing down the knobs in Harry’s spine, rubbing into the divot between the lean muscles of his back as he rubs lower. He’s lovely, so fucking lovely, and Louis wants one hundred more firsts with him, an endless parade of firsts stretched out across the whole of their future. He inhales raggedly, chest tight with how much he feels. 

“I know...nothing is like this at all,” Harry agrees, nuzzling into Louis’s face, kissing his jaw, his chin, his pulse, then back up to his lips, where he huffs out a sweet-smelling sigh before licking his way into his mouth. They kiss deep and sloppy for a minute before Harry pulls back enough to murmur, “Love you. M’sorry I’m a fucking twat.” 

“I don’t care that you’re a twat, you just don’t _need to be_ because m’not going anywhere and m’never gonna get scared away. I’m so fucking in love with you that you’re the one who should be freaked out.” 

Harry grins then, the flash of his teeth so perfect and brilliant, his dimple caving in beautifully. Louis nips at it. “Okay. I’ll try to remember that,” Harry sighs. “Should we get the sign off the door? Reckon the boys should be coming up soon, s’late.” 

Louis waves a hand in the air, thinking that the last thing he wants to do is get out of this warm bed with his warm boyfriend and pick his way across a _cold_ room to clear the way for four people to come in and ruin his perfect postcoital bliss. He wants to truly _bask_ in the glory of his first mutual rim job, and getting teased relentlessly for making the room smell like sex isn’t part of his definition of _basking_. “Nah. Let ’em shack up with Bellamie tonight. Zayn won’t complain, he’ll probably thank us in the morning.” 

Harry yawns, snuggling up against Louis, head pillowed on his chest. “Yeah, but Liam will. We’re never gonna hear the end of it from him.” 

“I don’t care about Liam,” Louis says lightly, rolling over and arranging Harry so that their bodies slot together naturally. He loves falling asleep like this, face tucked between the wings of Harry’s shoulder blades so that when he stirs awake in the night he can kiss down his vertebrae and remind himself that the boy he’s in love with loves him back, that he got to lick his _arse_ tonight, and sometime soon he’s gonna fuck him, too. Lay him out on his back and fill him up, do it just right. He sighs, settling against Harry contentedly. “But I care about you,” he reminds him.


End file.
